


The Night Still Comes

by tebtosca



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Barebacking, M/M, Object Insertion, Prison, Prison Sex, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-07
Updated: 2013-09-07
Packaged: 2017-12-25 21:19:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/957711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tebtosca/pseuds/tebtosca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Officer Padalecki hates working the night shift. Most of the time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Night Still Comes

**Author's Note:**

> Written for salt_burn_porn for zubeneschamali's prompt of "femme fatale"

Night shift is a bitch.

Corrections Officer Jared Padalecki should have known better than to think that having a warden for a daddy would get him out of the shit hours that come with being a newbie guard. Guys like Morgan, the ones going on twenty years of service, were never going to give up the good shifts, especially not with the amount of overtime they already put in because of understaffing. No one wants to do their line of work nowadays, and most of the time Jared can’t blame them.

Occasionally, however, when vacation time rolls around or babies are born or people die, Jared ends up working the daylight hours in the prison.

It’s on one of these rotations that he first sees Ackles.

Jared doesn’t know what Ackles is in for. He could probably ask—Officer Beaver gets bored enough between scratching his beard and his crotch during shift changes that he’d spill any gossip he’s got—but there’s something about the mystery of it that Jared enjoys.

Ackles is beautiful. A bit rough around the edges, dark blond hair just a little too spiked and lines working out from the corners of his eyes, but still undeniable in his attractiveness. The line of his tan jumpsuit is just a little too tight, and Jared wonders if that’s a quirk of the prison dryer or an intentional choice. The sway of his hips, though—that’s all voluntary.

The thing is, Jared would automatically expect a pretty boy like Ackles to be the one getting a chain run on him in a place like this. Their current location is a pretty tight ship, but neither the Warden nor the inmates ignore the fact that things go on in a place like this that even the guards can’t—or won’t—control. 

But Jared notices something odd about the way Ackles gets treated by the other inmates, a deference paid to him that is both intriguing and suspicious. 

Ackles sits in the corner of the quad with his rag-tag crew: Collins the twitchy meth dealer; Kane with the ponytail and the crazy eyes; Olsson with his easy smile and razor blade teeth. The big, bald fat guy with the neck tattoos that Jared hears Ackles call “Little Bitch” in his soft, dulcet twang sits next to Ackles like a bodyguard, keeping one eye on Pellegrino’s crew in the opposite corner and the other on the pack of cards he’s currently dealing to the others.

Jared finds himself almost entranced by the way the light is playing off the silhouette of Ackles’ profile as he sits and plays cards with his boys like there’s not a care in the word. There’s no tension in those broad shoulders, no tightness that comes with fear coiled underneath the skin. Just an eerie calm that makes Jared wonder how a guy like him ended up in a place like this.

A small disruption breaks out on the far side of the room. Jared stiffens for just a second before starting to react. Jared’s a big guy, all 6 feet 5 inches of brick-hard corded muscle and bone, but he’s still new enough to have the healthy unease of possibly getting shanked in his belly.

The noise does get the attention of Ackles, who turns his head just enough to lazily look over his shoulder. His eyes lock on Jared, who wonders for a split second why he’s still looking at Ackles and not on the commotion that’s part of his job to break up. 

Ackles’ head is tilted down just slightly, his neck a long smooth line. He’s looking at Jared from under the fringe of his lashes, and suddenly there’s something a lot deadlier then a shank unfurling itself in Jared’s gut. 

It’s then Jared notices it, the shine. A dab of slick, probably some generic petroleum jelly from the commissary, right in the middle of Ackles’ bottom lip. Ackles brings a hand up, and Jared sees the same shine along the edges of his knuckles briefly before Ackles turns around and the moment is lost.

Slippery fists don’t land punches very well, thinks Jared, before rushing off to finally do his damn job.

Good thing Ackles doesn’t get into fights.

==

He’s back on nights, working solitary, when Officer Ferris comes in to disprove that statement.

Seems that Ackles had some sort of dispute with one of Hodge’s crew, and that’s the weirdest part about it because Ackles never seemed to have a beef with them like some of the more hardcore factions. Jared asks what happened and Ferris just shrugs, already bored with the conversation as she goes to clock out and get home before her husband starts snoring.

There’s a weird sort of anticipation inside of Jared during his first round of checks an hour later. Most of the inmates are silent, thankfully, though Speight is sitting in the corner of his bare mattress, sheet pulled around his shoulders like a cape as he happily talks to the air in front of him.

Ackles is in the very last cell lining the hallway. Jared takes a deep breath, and then huffs a laugh at how ridiculous he’s being. The guy is probably asleep like the rest of the inmates. Hell, like the rest of the normal people in the world not working a graveyard shift taking care of a bunch of psychos.

Jared looks in the square of solid bulletproof glass in the middle of the cell door and finds Ackles staring right back at him, lips curled into the semblance of a grin.

Jared steps back involuntarily, and rushes a little too quickly back to his station.

He goes likes that for the next few nights. Ackles is always awake during the earlier bed checks, just sitting there all nonchalant against the wall as he looks at Jared through the glass. Sometimes Ackles smirks, or throws in a wink just to fuck with him.

Jared finds it strangely endearing, which is the part that flusters him the most.

Four days into the mandatory seven days of isolation punishment, Jared finds himself unlocking the cell and stepping inside.

Jared closes the door and presses his back to it. His hand curls around the nightstick on his utility belt. He’s got a good three or four inches on Ackles and at least twenty pounds. Jared’s not scared. 

Ackles kneels up on the bed and starts working on the buttons of his jumpsuit. He smiles, like he knew this was inevitable.

Jared’s not scared. He’s terrified.

Jared stands over the bed, and Ackles reaches up, fingers making a lazy trail from the collar of Jared’s polyester uniform shirt to the sharp curve of Jared’s jawline, until finally they reach around the back of Jared’s neck and grasp the too long chestnut hair at the nape. 

He tugs until Jared has no choice but to bend, and there is a flash of perfect white teeth that says he enjoys the tacit submission in the way that Jared gives in before that shiny mouth is pressing against Jared’s own.

Ackles kisses like he does everything else, confident and fierce, tongue slipping against Jared’s in a hot, wet dance. His fingertips drum on Jared’s skin, tapping out little beats that match the rhythm of their entanglement. Jared feels it in his pores, lust pouring out of him like sweat at high noon.

Ackles pulls back suddenly, tiny string of saliva clinging desperately to the plump meat of his rapidly swelling bottom lip. His eyes, shining bright green even in the darkened pitch of the cell, never leave Jared’s face as he strips off the rest of his jumpsuit and lies back naked and decadent on the sorry excuse for a mattress.

Jared is caught, completely motionless as he stares at Ackles helplessly and wills him to tell him what to do next. This entire situation is so overwhelming, so reckless and _stupid_ that it needs to be perfect in order for it to ever make sense.

Luckily, Ackles is the proactive sort. He’s reaching under the bed and pulling out that handy little jar of jelly that he loves so much, popping the top and sinking two fingers into the pot in a way that is too sensual to be anything other than intentional. 

Jared can’t think of anything else to do but moan as quietly as possible as Ackles parts his legs like the Red Sea and runs those sticky fingers down the crevice of his own ass. The perfect pink furl is right there, close enough that Jared would just have to lean forward a little bit to get to it. But he’s frozen solid in every part of his body except his eyes, which watch as Ackles rubs wicked little circles around his own hole before sliding one finger in like a knife through butter.

Ackles’ chest heaves just a bit, nipples tight rose points reaching out for touch. His head is tilted back, eyes half-lidded through those goddamn lashes as he watches Jared watch him.

Jared doesn’t know who reaches for it first, but somehow the nightstick is shifting from the loop of Jared’s belt down to the pale meat of Ackles’ thigh. They both have a grasp on it, Jared at one end and Ackles on the other, pulling it towards where his other hand is pumping hot and slick in his channel. 

Ackles grunts when the tip of the stick goes in, sliding roughly alongside the two fingers that he still has inside of himself. Jared stills for a moment, watching how the opening pulls tight around the hard black plastic. It stretches, stress of the intrusion whitening the otherwise rosy pinkness of the muscle. It thrums, alive, swollen, aching for it, as Jared pushes forward steadily until half the baton is inside of Ackles’ ass and Ackles’ nails are leaving track marks in Jared’s bicep.

Jared tips down, huge body covering Ackles’ smaller one, the unoccupied hand used to brace his weight so he can use the other one to work the object faster and harder. Jared is still fully clothed, his dick pressing hard against the zipper of his uniform pants as it rubs against hot bare flesh.

Ackles is making tiny noises, sweet breathy little moans that Jared wants to eat right out of his mouth. Jared bends down and steals the noise from those lips, working his teeth across flesh, his tongue licking the cavern inside. Ackles gives as good as he’s gets, biting back with enough force that Jared wonders who is going to have the most damage when the sun finally rises.

Ackles trembles violently when Jared pulls the stick from his body, tossing the thing haphazardly on the mattress before scrambling to get his pants unzipped. The sudden imperative to get his cock inside of that tight warm space is too overwhelming to wait any longer or think at all rationally.

He’s lifting Ackles up and slamming him back against the wall before Ackles can even register the change. He gets quickly with the program though, hiking his thighs up around Jared’s hips and locking his ankles together as Jared kneels up on the bed and supports his weight. 

Jared lines up fast and slides in, his pelvis smacking so roughly that he can feel Ackles vibrating with it. 

“God fuck, _fuck_ , Ackles,” Jared pants out, the muscles in his arm straining as he keeps Ackles lifted against the wall and fucks up into him. Ackles is almost delirious, head smacking against the concrete as he clings to the material of Jared’s shirt. The friction of it is rubbing against Ackles’ pretty pink cock and his ass clenches with impending orgasm.

“Jensen,” Ackles says, voice low and rough. It’s the first thing he’s ever said to Jared. “Call me Jensen.”

“Jensen,” Jared repeats, and he feels sudden wetness spread all over their bellies from Jensen’s jizz seconds before he soaks his own deep inside of him.

“That’s it, Jared.” 

Jensen's voice is calm again. Too calm.

Jared wishes he can say he blacks out then because the orgasm was just that good, but _well._

==

Jared wakes up handcuffed to the crappy metal bed leg, wearing just jizz-stained boxers and a tan jumpsuit draped over him like a blanket. His head is throbbing from the dirty nightstick-induced bump on the back of it, and his dick is still sensitive and raw and covered in petroleum jelly residue and come.

He tries to picture Jensen wearing his too-big uniform and smiles briefly at the thought that he’ll still have Jared’s come dripping down the leg of the polyester pants. He wonders who Jensen will try to break out with him, if anyone at all. Maybe Hodge himself, if the whole thing was a setup to begin with.

Ackles doesn’t get in fights because _Jensen_ doesn’t have to.

==

Jared gets taken off the night shift. 

Officer Beaver can’t wait to tell everyone why.


End file.
